I'd rather have a cheese course, thanks
2004-10-21 @ 10:09 a.m.
Last night my phone rang at 3:30 am.
I wake easily, and fairly coherently, (albiet sounding a lot like Vito Corleone with a dash of Tom Waits, or Demi Moore back when she was on General Hospital as Jackie Templeton and she had the raspiest voice ever. The disappearance of this raspy voice is still a mystery to me. Maybe it was part of her character..clearly a choice from a method actress...)
a-hem. back to our story.
I wake easily, and since I use my cell phone as my alarm clock also, it's usually pretty close to where I'm sleeping. So I answered, but not having my glasses on I didn't see if the caller was identified. It was safe to assume that it wasn't the bank.
And it wasn't the bank, it was Joey Tribani asking the every popular "Whatchoo doin'?"
(okay- Joey says "How you doin'?" but when my ex gets angry, or drunk, or tries to be coy all the Brooklyn in him floats atop his bloodstream and dribbles out his mouth.)
So it was him. He really did ask, at 3am, what I was doing.
I was sleeping.
"Well I just called you to tell you that you were right, and mumble mumble mumble, beat me up, mumble mumble, left in handcuffs.."
WHAT?! Because I heard the part that HE was the person who got beaten up, but it also sounded like maybe he was calling me from a police station saying he'd been arrested.
"You were right about how things would turn out, KGB and I argued tonight, and she beat the shit out of me, and she was arrested. She left here in handcuffs."
All I can think is that for the rest of my life, I can rest assured that my worst case senario fears and predictions are the most likely to come true in nearly every event. I didn't even really think this would be happening, at least not so soon.
And my reaction is pretty numb.
The phone call went on a little, but I wasn't that interested really. I wasn't interested in the fact he was bleeding (the police apparently didn't advise him to go the hospital). I wasn't interested in being right. I wasn't interested in going over there to take care of him. I wasn't interested in marveling how stupid he would be to drink WITH her, or that she would drink at all.
None of it tempted me.
His life is a layer cake of idiocy with a delightful frosting made of regret and I've never been one for desserts, not even just ones.
I know once and for all, from my own reaction to all this drama, that the glutton for punishment is not, after all, me.
I feel emotionally grown up for maybe the first time in my entire life.